


Mourning Star

by AVirtoMusae



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, F/M, garcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVirtoMusae/pseuds/AVirtoMusae
Summary: When Lucy’s family dies, they leave the estate to a cousin, Nicholas, who insists Lucy marry a rich marquis, Lord Noah Wycliff. Upset with this arrangement, Lucy enlists the help of the housekeeper, Mrs. Christopher, to arrange a marriage with someone of whom her family would never approve, one Garcia Flynn.





	Mourning Star

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to @yes-ladyofthelake for helping me with this.

Black was the color of mourning, and Lucy wore it well. The sixth months of her mourning were finished, however, and despite her pleading, her cousin Nicholas, the new Duke of Rittenhouse, would not permit her a longer period of mourning. Lucy held her head down as she entered her cousin’s library, which featured also as his primary receiving room for guests.

Lucy had a few guesses as to the reason Nicholas had demanded her presence at this early hour when the birds had only just ceased their morning song. Jiya had today helped her into a simple purple morning dress, which Lucy suspected had been insisted upon by Nicholas. It also caused her to suspect that he intended her to help him receive guests, which Lucy was not in the least bit fond of.

Even so, she carried herself with grace and hid her surprise when she saw that Nicholas’ guest had arrived before she herself had. “Ah, Lucy, you simply must meet my guest. Lord Wycliff, please meet my darling cousin Lucille Preston. Lucy, this is Lord Wycliff.”

Lucy wished for the mourning bonnet that she had shed months previous, but today, she would have to cultivate her neutral expression instead of simply hiding her scorn behind her grief. Lucy squared her shoulders and curtsied. “Lord Wycliff.”

Lord Wycliff took Lucy’s hand and kissed it lightly. He met her eyes, but Lucy looked away as soon as possible. “Miss Preston.” Lucy extracted her hand from his grasp the second it would be polite for her to do so. She took a step back and resisted her urge to wipe off her hand. 

“Now, now, Lucy,” Nicholas intoned softly, “Lord Wycliff is here to propose to you.”

Never had Lucy resented her step-father than now, when he had let the estate to be entailed rather than passing it to his daughters. Nicholas had informed her that she would have only six months of mourning her mother, step-father, and half-sister rather than allowing her an entire year for mourning. She resented being treated as though she had no say in her own fate, and she rather imagined that her mother would have protested this treatment for her as well. 

Lucy looked to Noah and then back to Nicholas. “I suppose I have no choice in this matter?” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms to ensure her displeasure with this arrangement was easily recognized. 

Nicholas shook his head softly, as though that single gentle action could possibly undo the weight of the blow he dealt to Lucy. Emma, Nicholas’ wife, emerged from the shadows of the room as though she were a cat with her prey in the exact position she deLorded it. Lucy supposed that that were true, that Emma had always viewed her as such. “Now, dear, you cannot possibly be so unhappy about your new beau.” Emma trailed her hand along the back of Nicholas’ neck possessively. “He is rather dashing, if perhaps a bit of a fop. A girl such as you could do worse.”

“A girl such as I could do better as well,” Lucy snapped, tilting her head up. Her jaw jutted out in defiance as she turned on her heel. “Now, pardon me, but I must take the air.” 

Lucy turned on her heel and stalked out of the library. She ignored Nicholas as he called for her to return even though she knew he would have her pay dearly for it later if he had his way. The springtime air was still cool on her face as the sun was not yet halfway through its daily journey, and clouds covered the greater part of the sky. The gardens of the Rittenhouse Estate were stunning. Flowers of all colors and heights clamored for attention among the other foliage.

Today, however, Lucy could not have cared less about the shifting colors of the gardens than she already did. Her sure steps took her well past the edge of the gardens and onto a path that extended to the very edge of the grounds. She followed the path until she got to where a small stone bridge crossed a brook and sat down on the railing with her feet dangling over the side of the bridge. Her feet did not quite touch the water, but it was a near thing. 

As Lucy looked down at the water swirling downstream, she let her tears pour out. This place was her favorite place to which she could retreat, but it had once been where she had gone with Amy, and that made coming here a bittersweet thing. Lucy took a couple of shuddering breaths. Nothing had been the same since the deaths of her family. She supposed she was lucky that Nicholas permitted her leave to live in this house with them, yet it did not feel like something she ought to have been grateful for. Everything in her rebelled at the way the knew Duke and Duchess of Rittenhouse treated her. She was a woman, but she refused to be seen as either nuisance or property, and yet to them she was somehow both. She refused it, refused them and their orders both. Her mind made up to refuse Noah Wycliff at whatever cost, Lucy finally looked up to realize that she was not alone here.

Lucy flushed at the idea of a stranger having seen her cry. “Lord?” she questioned, tilting her head imperiously as though she did not still have tears running down her cheeks. The man wore an elegant black tailcoat over all black clothing. Lucy wondered if “What are you doing here?”

The man was silent for a moment before pulling a burgundy handkerchief from his breast pocket and handing it to her. “For your tears only. I do not have the time to wash your snot from it.” 

The first thing Lucy noticed about the man’s voice was his accent, which Lucy could not quite place. The second was his words. Lucy had to fight the urge to drop the handkerchief into the river in irritation. Instead, she handed the cloth back to him and wiped her tears with the heels of her hands. He took the cloth back without comment, though Lucy could have sworn he flushed slightly. “I would rather not trouble you then. You do not need to stay here and pity me. You can be on your way if you are so short on time.” 

The man shook his head. “I came here to clear my head. I think you can understand.” He looked Lucy up and down. “Have you run away from tea, my lady?”

Lucy crossed her arms. “Obviously I have,” she intoned bitterly, “for what other cause could a lady have for crying over some insults in the farthest reaches of her family estate?” 

The man froze. “You’re the Duchess of Rittenhouse?”

“Good heavens, no, I am not. The Ducy belongs to my cousin, Nicholas Keynes,” Lucy explained, “and before that, the Duchess of Rittenhouse was my late mother.”

The man made no move to give her his condolences, which struck Lucy as rather impertinent, but she did not comment on it. He left without another word, leaving Lucy to stare after him incredulously. She shook her head and reminded herself that she had more important matters to which to attend than the strange man on the edge of the Rittenhouse grounds. 

With a heavy sigh and one last, lingering look to the water, Lucy started back up the path to the estate. She was met, not too far up the path, by Jiya, her maid, who was jogging toward her. “Miss Lucy! His Grace sent me to find you!” 

Lucy took a deep breath because she knew there was no way to postpone this meeting any further. “I am quite sure that he did. Could you have tea ready for me in my room when I return? I am quite sure I will need it. Could you have Mrs. Christopher there for me as well? I have a favor to ask of her.”

Jiya placed a hand on Lucy’s arm. “It will be okay, do you hear me? You’re Miss Lucille Preston, rightful heir to the estate. You will be fine.”

Lucy took a deep breath. “No, Jiya, I doubt I will be, but thank you for the thought. That’s why I shall need to speak with Mrs. Christopher.” She bit her lip and motioned for them to continue back up the path. 

“What’s the matter?”

Lucy shook her head. She wanted to tell Jiya, but a part of her was afraid that speaking the words would make them more real. Besides, there was far too much for her to say about the situation that the walk back would permit her to say. “I will tell you after.”

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Lucy returned to the library with an appropriately somber and repentant attitude, or so she hoped. She did not feel remorse for leaving at all, but that was something she could not show. “My sincerest apologies,” Lucy said, bowing her head, “it is just that this is all rather unexpected, and I had not expected to be proposed to upon my arrival downstairs.” She gave Noah a demure smile and turned to Nicholas. “Dear Cousin, would you perhaps mind giving me a chance to know Lord Wycliff prior to becoming his fiancee?”

Nicholas sneered, and Emma raised an eyebrow. “I'm sure you are sorry, Dear,” Emma said, the last word colder than the winter solstice. Lucy had never wished more that she were a better liar than she was or that she had had cause to learn in her childhood. 

“I am sorry. I did not mean to dishonor our guest or our family, and I hope that you all may forgive me,” Lucy reiterated with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. 

“So you will marry Lord Wycliff?” Nicholas asked impatiently. 

“I would rather first know more of him and then decide for myself,” Lucy replied testily.”If that is permissible, of course.”

“Let him propose to you and then decide, you insolent girl,” Nicholas snapped. “He is a Marquis in his own right and of good blood. You could hardly find a better man on the globe with the obvious exception of myself!”

Emma chuckled and grabbed her husband's arm. “Don't ruin this, Husband,” she hissed. She steered him out of the room, leaving just Lucy and Noah. Lucy rather expected her cousins to be listening to whatever would be said through the door. 

Lucy turned to Noah to find that he was already on one knee before her. Lucy felt herself very nearly swallow her tongue at this. She wished she could pull him to his feet and prevent all of this from happening. But alas, Nicholas and Emma meant that she would simply have to endure. 

“Miss Preston,” Noah began, “ever since I first saw you this morning, I have been struck by how beautiful you are. I would chase you for however long it would take, to the ends of the earth and back again, just to let you see how well I think upon you and how much I deLorde you as my wife. Miss Preston, Lucy —”

“Lord Wycliff, I have known you for a few minutes only, which is not long enough for me to get a measure of your character,” Lucy protested, “nor is it time enough for you to pretend to know me.”

“Ah, so you would like to get to know me then? You accept my proposal?” Noah asked, giving Lucy a hopeful look. 

“I do not wish to know you, nor do I wish to marry you, but as far as my family is concerned, I have not a say in the matter, so I suppose that yes, I do accept,” Lucy replied, struggling to keep a sour tone from her voice.

Noah smiled and clapped his hands together, though he seemed more reserved than most who had just gotten engaged. “Excellent, Dear Betrothed, I look forward to knowing you better.”

Lucy wondered whether or not he understood the words she had said. She pursed her lips and looked over at the bookcases. “Yes, I am quite sure you do.”

Nicholas and Emma came back into the room soon thereafter, leaving Lucy more stiff and quiet before. She did not want to think about what had just happened, and she hoped more than ever that Mrs. Christopher could help her. 

“Lucy, my dear, that was not difficult, was it?” Nicholas purred as he bumped into her on his way to his usual seat. Without looking away from the books, Lucy could feel Emma's smirk. 

Lucy pointedly ignored the conversation the other three made as it was hardly anything more than idle gossip that did not interest her. Once again she wished for her mourning veil with its veil that would hide her face. She wished that she could hide herself from everyone, sequester herself in her room away from her cousins and apparent fiance. Not for the first time did she wish that she had been born somewhere else, born into a different family, where she would have been valued for her mind rather than her looks. Fortunately, as a token of this, no one asked her to comment on anything either. 

Finally, Noah excused himself, so Lucy was finally permitted to leave the library. She returned to her room by the most direct route she could manage. She desperately needed the tea that she had requested. Her heart was pounding by the time she made it, and tear had welled in her eyes once again due to the shear stress of the situation in which she found herself. 

Lucy took a deep breath and opened her door to find both Mrs. Christopher and Jiya waiting for her. Lucy took a deep breath and sat down on her bed. “Sit, please,” Lucy said, sounding very close to begging. 

“Dear girl, what’s the matter?” Mrs. Christopher asked.

Lucy pursed her lips. “My dearest cousin insists that I marry one Lord Wycliff, something in which I lack interest entirely. To be perfectly frank, I despise him simply because he is someone my family insists upon, and I mean not to marry him. However, should I remain unattached, I doubt I will be presented with another option but to marry this man.”

Mrs. Christopher looked up at her over her own cup of tea. “You might want something stronger than just the tea, then.”

Lucy shook her head and silently asked for the tea Jiya had made for her. “No, thank you. I want to keep my faculties intact. I wish to ask for your help, actually.”

“What do you need help with?” Mrs. Christopher asked with a concerned countenance. 

Lucy smirked slightly, raising a slight eyebrow. “I wish for you to find someone else for me to marry, someone my family would never approve of and who would not limit my freedom and who would not mind going against my family. As you well know, this eliminated the entirety of my male acquaintances, so I need your help.”

Jiya laughed, “So you’re simply exchanging one arranged marriage for another? Sounds a bit risky.”

“I trust Mrs. Christopher,” Lucy replied simply. She took a sip from her tea. The bitter taste and smooth texture felt like heaven, felt like an extension of her own soul. She left the fact she did not trust her family unspoken. “Would it be possible for you to find someone before end of day tomorrow?”

Mrs. Christopher nodded. “I will see what I can do.” She stood, walked over to Lucy, and patted her on the head. Jiya glared at the head housekeeper because her boss was messing up the work she had put into doing Lucy’s hair. With that, Mrs. Christopher left, leaving Lucy alone with her lady’s maid.

“Will you be all right without me?”Jiya asked Lucy. Jiya bit her lip and placed her hand on Lucy’s arm.

Lucy nodded slowly and then drew her servant and friend into a hug. “I hope so, but in any case, I shall miss you very much. You are my closest friend and confidante, and I dread to think of life without you, but I do not wish to stay under Nicholas and Emma’s thumb any longer. Will you be treated well without me here?”

Jiya shook her head. “Sometimes I think you are the only obstacle between the Duke and Duchess and murdering the entire staff, my lady, but we can take care of ourselves.”

Lucy frowned, and her brow furrowed. “If you aren’t sure, I can stay, or I can try to figure out some way for you to come with me.”

“I would finally get to marry my beau,” Jiya said. “Whenever he hurries himself up and proposes, I expect I’ll leave service anyway. Get back to my books and my maths.” She smiled at Lucy and nudged her slightly. 

“Well, then I ought to urge him to hurry up and to propose to you already,” Lucy teased, smiling. The moment of joy quickly passed, however. Like a breeze rustling through the forest, it made a a rippling change that resonated through Lucy’s core before slipping away and leaving not even a trace. 

“I guess so,” Jiya replied. “Are you sure that this is a good idea? You could not just buy a ticket to America and start a new life like Mr. Mason always brags about doing?” Mr. Mason was the butler who had reportedly gotten himself out of a bad situation in New York by buying himself a one-way ticket to England and never looking back. Lucy wished that she had the means to do that, but Nicholas was careful with his money and would notice if Lucy were to steal some for her own personal uses. 

“I wish,” Lucy said, “but I think this is the way I have to do this. I trust Mrs. Christopher to find me someone better than Lord Noah Wycliff.”

“Is he really that awful?” 

Lucy shook her head. “He’s not, I don’t think, unless you count him being more interested in my looks than my mind as every man is as beastly as I do. I would much rather he have asked me for my opinion on Shakespeare or Dumas rather than he offer me his opinions on my looks.” 

“You deserve someone who will respect your mind, my lady,” Jiya told her before moving away from Lucy. “You deserve the world, but right now, you deserve me helping you change into your evening dress so as not to anger the Duke.”

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

The morning birds found Lucy in a morning dress sitting in the gardens with a book in her lap. She read quietly, much enjoying her copy of Sir Walter Scott’s latest novel, with its maroon bindings and gold leaf on the cover. It was a beautiful book, a darker shade of the color dress she wore that morning. Lucy was unsurprised to see Mrs. Christopher come around the bend and greet her. She stood up and offered the older woman a smile. 

“Good morning,” Lucy greeted in return. “Have you found someone?”

“I have,” Mrs. Christopher intoned, a fond smile on her face. “I’ve asked a couple of people around town, and one of them has accepted.”

Lucy could feel a flood of anxiety enter her veins, and she looked at Mrs. Christopher expectantly. “And who have you asked? Who has accepted?”

“I asked two people. One Mr. Wyatt Logan, a soldier, but he has told me that he is already engaged to a Miss Jessie Thorne,” Mrs. Christopher explained, very clearly drawing out Lucy’s tension to tease her. 

Lucy crossed her arms, but she took care to keep her place in her book. “So I am not to marry Mr. Logan, so who am I to marry?” 

Denise smirked. “His name is Garcia Flynn. He’s from Dalmatia, a former soldier. Got a medal for it before he retired from the army. Now he’s a barrister. He’s a widower, and he lost his child, too. There was an accident, much like the one your own family died in.”

“How long ago?” Lucy asked, thinking of the unpleasant man she had met the previous day on the bridge. She had a strange feeling that this Garcia Flynn might have been the very same man and felt a feeling of dread. But he could not be any worse than Lord Wycliff or anyone else her family would pick out for her. She trusted Mrs. Christopher. 

“Two years, or so I have heard. Dear, if you do not wish to go through with this, no one will blame you. He is not the most pleasant of men, but he will respect you,” Mrs. Christopher placed her hand on Lucy’s shoulder.

“I will do it. I said I wanted out of my family’s control. I have no intentions of reneging on that now, unless you think I ought to, Mrs. Christopher,” Lucy replied, tilting her head to the side. “Do you think I ought to?” 

“He is a good man, but more than that, I wish for you to be happy. I think you could find it with either man. The choice belongs to you,” Mrs. Christopher began, but she cut herself off when she saw that Nicholas and Noah approached. 

Mrs. Christopher stepped away from Lucy, but this came a fraction of a second too late as it became obvious that Nicholas had seen. His eyes narrowed. “You dare touch her, you filthy wagtail!”

Lucy stepped forward and pointed her finger at Nicholas. There was a fire in her gaze that ought to have warned him against testing her, but Nicholas made no move to apologize to the housekeeper. “That is not something that you ought to use as an insult, Cousin Dearest, and you certainly should not use it on anyone. That aside, your own housekeeper must be one of the most foolish targets imaginable when she is charged with taking care of half the household, and if you were to let her go, I doubt anyone else would take the position because they all know what a rotter you are and how poorly you pay. Now, I would imagine that it would be well-considered of you to apologize to her immediately.” Lucy stepped forward until her finger jabbed into Nicholas’ chest. “I would watch my words, were I you.”

“You should watch your words before Noah here refuses you and you end up on the shelf because no man would have you,” Nicholas returned, scowling. He took a step forward to try to force Lucy back, force Lucy to drop her hand.

Lucy decided she would not have it. She hit him in the face with the book she was still holding in her other hand. “Say it again, and I will make sure that your nose will not look the same. And then your darling wife might not think you’re such a catch. Please, I dare you.”

Nicholas snorted with contempt, but he also stepped away. A bruise had already begun to form on his right cheek where Lucy had hit him. “How dare you! I could tell you to leave this property this instant and never come back. I could have the servants refuse you food for days. I could break off your engagement.”

Lucy turned to Noah, who had remained silent and stone-faced throughout the argument. “Thank you ever so much for your help, Lord Wycliff. I certainly could have done none of this without you.” With that, Lucy turned on her heel and put an arm around Mrs. Christopher’s shoulders to escort her away from the pair of men. 

Behind them, Nicholas pulled off one of his shoes and threw it after the two women. Whatever else could be said about him, it could not be said that Nicholas Keynes was a poor marksman. He hit Lucy’s back with the shoe hard enough that it was sure to leave a bruise. Lucy stumbled, nearly causing both her and Mrs. Christopher to fall to the ground. 

Lucy regained her balance with the housekeeper’s help. She did not once turn to look over her shoulder at the men. She simply carried herself forward, let her shunning them be snub enough. She steered Mrs. Christopher to the servants’ entrance and then gestured for the housekeeper to lead the way. 

When the pair was safely inside, Lucy crossed her arms. “Without a doubt, I intend to marry this Garcia Flynn. I do not suppose that you arranged a time as well?”

Mrs. Christopher smirked.

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

As it turned out, Mrs. Christopher had indeed arranged a time for the marriage — that very night. Lucy's stomach tied itself in knots. She felt strangled, as if her stays were somehow both far too tight and far too loose all at once. She could hardly breathe. They were almost at the town’s chapel, where the wedding ceremony was going to take place. 

Lucy was dressed in a simple white gown. It was not one of her favored gowns, as she prefered off-whites and color, but it was still generally comfortable and elegant. 

“You’re sure of this, Dear?” Mrs. Christopher asked her one more time. 

Lucy nodded again, yet here nerves refused to subside. She thought she could practically vomit from how anxious she was, but she promised herself she would do no such thing on the day of her wedding. This was supposed to be one of the most important days of her life, something to be celebrated, not something to be done in secret, but she could not help but be grateful for the secrecy. There was no way her family could approve of this Garcia Flynn. She had asked Mrs. Christopher to make sure of that. 

The inside of the chapel was surprisingly simple compared to the decadence of the Rittenhouse estate. It felt real in a way that home never felt for her. Lucy almost shivered. At the other end of the hall was the man from the previous day, just as Lucy had expected might have been the case. Lucy swallowed. It was not that he was a bad-looking man — indeed, she thought he was rather handsome — but if his mood from the previous day indicated anything, he was not nearly as delightful as his casing. 

Lucy walked up the aisle to where Garcia Flynn awaited her. She squared her shoulders. She would not go into her marriage feeling weak or feeling like a fool. She would go into her marriage confidently as though she were entirely sure this was a good idea. She would not be weak, and she would not have second thoughts. This was her idea, after all, and she had had chance aplenty to back down. She would not admit weakness now. 

She reached the front of the chapel where the priest and her future husband awaited. She did not speak. The priest read from the Book of Common Prayer while she waited with bated breath for the ceremony to be over. She did not chance looking at her husband-to-be. She knew there was no way he was going to be happy with the marriage. It had to be a charity act for him, and Lucy dreaded the moment he would find out who exactly she was. 

Then, the ceremony finished, and it was time for the newly married couple to kiss. He was gently when he lifted her veil. The first thing that Lucy noticed was that Garcia’s eyes were shut, as though he could not stand to look at her. With what Mrs. Christopher had told her of his past, Lucy supposed that was entirely fair. It still hurt a little. She ignored the hurt and tried to convince herself to be happy. She was a married woman now. She did not regret it, but she was scared too. 

His lips met hers, and Lucy was filled with a feeling of rebellion. It was a different high than the one she had always expected to come with her marriage, but part of her could not help but enjoy it even more. This was a feeling that she had never gotten to experience. This was what she sacrificed for Amy every single day so that Amy would not have to. She had been obedient so Amy would not have to be, and for one single, shameful second, Lucy was glad her sister was dead so that she could have this supreme moment of rebellion. Tears welled in her eyes at that thought.

When they pulled apart from that single, chaste kiss, Garcia opened his eyes. Their eyes met, and Lucy could see tears in his soot-colored eyes. Then he seemed to register who exactly she was. Lucy did not count herself talented at reading lips, but it took no expert to see that the word he mouthed was “no.” 

Lucy reminded herself not to be hurt by this, that she had been expecting it. She looked over to Mrs. Christopher who was also tearful and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Lucy walked over to the housekeeper and embraced the older woman tightly. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered. “Stay safe. If you ever need anything, never hesitate to ask. I can never repay you enough for everything.”

“I will miss you, Dear,” Mrs. Christopher whispered. “You take care of yourself.”

Lucy nodded and pulled away. “I will. If I hear anything about my dear cousin doing anything rude or untoward, I have no qualms about returning simply to hit him with that book again.” 

Mrs. Christopher laughed. “You know he —”

“I’m sure, Mrs. Christopher,” Lucy said, “that he will not want me back, and I still think that is a good thing.” Lucy smiled and then, against her better judgment, threw her arms around the housekeeper once again. Finally, Lucy stepped away, her eyes still filled with tears, and then turned back to the man who was now her husband. “I suppose it would be best if we were to be going.”

He nodded. She could not read the look in his eyes, and she found that she was not sure she wanted to. He looked confused and perhaps a little wary, but Lucy reminded herself not to question it. She took a deep breath and walked over to him. He did not offer her his arm, and she did not try to take it. 

Garcia Flynn did not have a carriage waiting for them, so they walked to his house on the edge of town. Lucy noted that he lived on the other side of town from the estate. It would have been quite the walk to get to where they had met the previous day. She wondered what he had been doing there, trespassing. When they made it to his house, he held the door open. She dipped her head in thanks and walked inside. 

She took a seat on a chair in the living room. He sat down on the chair across from her. Lucy made sure to take in her surroundings. There were books lying in stacks on the floor, but there were no bookcases. The room looked homey and lived in, but it had gathered dust as though it had been bypassed for years. The room was itself a juxtaposition, a contradiction, and perhaps like the man it belonged to, Lucy was curious to riddle it out. 

Lucy cleared her throat to gain Garcia’s attention. “How much did Mrs. Christopher tell you?” Garcia studiously did not look at her, so Lucy tried again. “This is not going to be easier if you stay silent. We need to talk. So, what did Mrs. Christopher tell you?”

“What did you mean, again?” Garcia asked quietly, his voice soft and low, as though he were asking her about some great secret. 

Lucy tilted her head to the side. “I do not know of what you speak, and I would remind you that I asked you a question first. What has Mrs. Christopher said to you?” Lucy crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What did you mean when you said you would smack your cousin with a book again?” Garcia returned, ignoring her question entirely.

Lucy pursed her lips and made a slight hissing sound when she exhaled. “Then let us make a deal. You answer my questions truthfully and wholly, and I will do the same for your questions. Does that sound fair to you? I will even answer your question first.”

Garcia raised his eyebrows at her expectantly. 

“Nicholas was rude to Mrs. Christopher because she’d placed her hand on my shoulder. I told him what a rotter he is and hit him with the book I had been reading after he attempted to intimidate me.” Lucy stood up. “Does this make me unacceptable to you because I am a woman who knows her own mind and will disobey the men in her life?”

Garcia growled irritably. “She told me she knew a nice young woman who needed help getting out of an undeLordable situation, but you don’t see it, do you? How your actions affect others?”

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked carefully, keeping her voice and countencance carefully neutral.

Garcia threw his hands up in frustration. “That your dearest cousin,” he sneered, “will take it out on the very person you have tried to protect. Your actions to protect them do not help.” He stood too. 

“If it helps, I listed reasons why his mistreatment of her is a bad idea. He would be wise to respect the people who work for him rather than abuse him. Mrs. Christopher helped raise me. I do not want to see her hurt,” Lucy told him sincerely. Her eyes gleaming with defiance, she clenched her fists and stared up at him.

“You’re the lady of the house. Doubtless you have no idea what occurs behind the closed doors,” Garcia argued. “Protecting them like that does nothing. It will only get them in trouble later. Give them other options. Help them get out of the situation. They’re the ones who need out, not you.”

Lucy’s eyebrows flew up. “For someone who has talked to me for five minutes, you know a lot about my life. I understand more than you think. No one would have helped.” She tried to ignore the fact that she had been corrected by her mother on her manners, her posture, her French, so many times in front of company. She ignored the fact that her own restrictions grew every time Amy got in trouble. She tried to ignore Nicholas hitting her with his shoe while Lord Wycliff watched. “Not the rest of the aristocracy, certainly. Amy was better with people than I.”

Garcia watched her impassively. “I’m sure there is a story to be told there.”

“I’m sure there is,” Lucy agreed. “Look, thank you for agreeing. I don’t particularly fancy being married off like chattel to some rich twit simply because my cousin thinks it would enhance the family and get me out of his hair.”

“So you decided to marry yourself off to some stranger your housekeeper knew?” he asked, his accent thinker in his amusement.

“I met you before, by the bridge. You were rather unpleasant, but at the very least, you have more a brain than that twit Lord Wycliff.” Garcia almost laughed at her comment before he calmed down quickly. He suddenly seemed more somber than he had before. Lucy stiffened slightly, afraid she must have somehow misstepped. 

“We’re going to need rules for this,” Garcia informed her, nearly laughing.

Lucy sighed. “I am knackered, and I would like to sleep. Whatever rules you have can wait until morning. Where I should sleep is your decision.”

“You sleep on the bed, and I will sleep on the floor.” He was looking anywhere but at her.

Lucy shook her head. “I cannot take the bed from you. We can share. I should appreciate some help with my stays. Show me the way?” He nodded slowly and then turned to lead her further into the house. Lucy followed him with only mild trepidation.

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Sleeping in the same bed as an unfamiliar man was as awkward as it sounded. They did not know each other, and they did not even like one another as acquaintances. Lucy and Garcia had taken opposite sides of the bed and took care that not a single inch of them touched the other. They had gone to sleep facing away from one another.

Lucy awakened before Garcia as she was naturally an early-riser only to find that she could not quite extract herself from the bed. She turned to examine her obstacle only to realize that it was her new husband, who had been so reluctant to be anywhere near her. Lucy froze upon that realization. This was how he used to sleep with his former wife. With that thought in mind, Lucy slide down the bed and extracted herself from his grasp. 

When she had freed herself from him, he rolled over as though to clutch at the space she had left on the bed. He looked lost, sprawled across the bed as he was, whimpering. Lucy made a quick decision. As it appeared he had neither a cat nor a dog, Lucy grabbed the pillow she had used and lifted his arm so he could cuddle the pillow as he had done her. He did not appear to notice the difference. Lucy resolved to find herself a nice book to read and wait for Garcia to awaken. As she left the room, she failed to notice Garcia’s eyelids fluttering as he awakened. 

Lucy was surprised at the ease with which she found the parlor with the books from the previous night. She had never been good with directions, but then, the house was no mansion. Garcia’s house felt like a home, but it was not her home. It was his home. It was her husband’s home. She refused to let it become her home unless he came to genuinely care for her. She had no interest in becoming comfortable where she was unwanted. 

She began to read from Le Morte d’Arthur. She had read it a few times before. It was an old favorite of hers. When she had been fourteen, she had explained the plot to her seven-year-old sister, Amy had demanded they act the scenes out together. She did not realize she was crying until a tear dropped down onto her hand. She closed the book before a tear could land on the page. She would not ruin her new husband’s books. She admired books far too much to risk damaging this one. 

Lucy knew she cried for a couple more minutes before she wiped her tears off on the backs of her hands, which she then wiped on her chemise. She then looked up to realize that Garcia was watching her. She hurried to stand. Her effort to be polite very nearly cause a stack of books to fall. She flushed violently at that. 

He only smirked at her, bemused. Lucy crossed her arms. “You have a rather lovely collection of books. I hope you don’t mind that I started reading.” She tucked the book beneath her arm. 

“You like to read?” He looked at the book under her arm and clearly realized which one she had. “That's hardly a ladylike book.”

“So? History isn't ladylike and that's the world we live in. I have no deLorde to be kept ignorant.” She sucked in a deep breath. She wanted to continue, but this was perhaps the only time she had said such to a man without him protesting. She smiled hesitantly as she realized that he actually agreed with her. “Which of the books do you favor most?”

“The last,” Garcia admitted.

“Where everything comes to dust? Where woman is blamed for man’s insecurity and jealousy? Where alliances shift quickly? Where the darkest deeds are exposed and everyone dies? I always took issue with that. There were better ways to resolve the conflict. None of it was necessary. There were no heroes.” Lucy shook her head, almost laughing. “Who did you fancy yourself as, then?”

“Now, now, that would be telling,” Garcia replied, smirking. “I suppose you fancied yourself Guinevere.”

“Simply because I sympathize with her plight as a woman does not mean she was the one I deLorded to be. I merely think the treatment of her was unfair. How come she had to take all the blame for the actions of the men in her life? In that book, they gave her the agency to do wrong or to be a person. Where was the focus on her conflict? Of her navigating the difficult situation she was placed in by her position of the most visible woman in the kingdom? Why was Lancelot forgiven? She was possibly the most visible and respected woman in Britain, and yet, she was powerless to save herself. It is rather vexing to me as I sometimes see myself in her position, and as a result, I admit I neither envy her nor wish to be her.” Lucy shook her head. “I much preferred the first book, admittedly.”

“Does that book not bother you? Does it not have the same flaws?” Garcia countered. “A woman is raped, and it is celebrated. There is incest, too. Do you not object to the establishment of Camelot and the Round Table when it so clearly ruined the lives of those whom it touched?”

Lucy shrugged. “With a code that deemed women as lesser? I hardly could approve. I, however, never claimed to like it for such. What I find fascinating are the Biblical parallels to be made with Mordred. They set him up as an anti-Christ figure. Everyone who could possibly be him is killed by the king who fears him. Yet he is the opposite of Christ where Christ is born of virtue, he is born of an incestuous relationship. He is the creation of men’s folly and actively brings justice to men who create him. It’s a cycle of justice, yet Mordred is forced to bear the burden of villain. I cannot condone all his actions, of course, but I think he is far too often labelled a villain for what he does.” 

Garcia stared at her for a long time without comment. Finally, he breathed, “I used to want to be Arthur when I was a kid.”

“So did my sister,” Lucy commented with a sad smile. “You said ‘use to’?”

“Now I fancy myself Mordred,” Garcia admitted, “almost for the reasons you said.”

Lucy tilted her head to the side. “What cause do champion, then, Mordred?”

“The fight against your family, against the aristocracy as a whole,” Garcia intoned softly. He was quiet enough that Lucy had to strain to hear him. “Does that scare you?”

Lucy shrugged. “Perhaps it would have bothered me before my family died, but since I have lived with Nicholas and Emma, I think I must answer no, it does not scare me.” 

Garcia’s eyebrows rose slightly at that, but he did not comment on that. “And what would your cause be?”

“Protecting those I love.”

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Lucy spent most of the day reading, and to her surprise, so did Garcia. She wondered how it was that he had not gone to work, but she did not ask. They did not speak again that day until it was nearly time for sleep. “Tomorrow I ought to go back to the estate and inform Nicholas that I have married someone other than his precious Lord Wycliff and gather my belongings.” 

Garcia stared at her incredulously. “No. Do not be foolish. You cannot tell them.”

“If it would endanger you, then fine, I shan’t. But if you are worried for my own safety in the matter, then I must assure you I can care for myself against my own family. I can handle myself.” Lucy frowned and changed her chemise while his back was turned. She began to braid her hair for sleep. 

“You forget who else could be punished for your actions.” His voice broke, and Lucy realized that he was attempting to hold back tears. Lucy did not know what to do with this. He was nearly 2 meters tall, and yet he seemed smaller than she. She glanced around for a cloth or handkerchief to give him. She found none.

Hesitantly, Lucy took a few steps toward him. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and used her other hand to stroke his hair. She did not pull him into a hug, did not do anything else she would have done for Amy when she was younger. She would have felt useless except that he leaned into her touch. 

She comforted him even though she did not fully understand why he was crying. Eventually, he looked up at her with watery eyes. Lucy did not ask why he had cried. She would consider it later, try to figure it out without asking him. She would not ask him to relive trauma to satisfy her own curiosity. 

She offered him a slight smile and curled up on the bed the same way she had the night before. He joined her, once again lying stiffly on the other side of the bed and facing away from her. Lucy pretended that she was not hurt by this.

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Lucy did not go to the Rittenhouse Estate the any time in the month following even though she thoroughly meant to. For the first week, Garcia had hidden her stays, which meant that she would have to be indecent to go out into public. She spent most of her time reading until she had gone through all the unfamiliar books in the house while he worked. The next week, Garcia did grudgingly help her with her clothing, but she did not venture out anyway, opting instead to familiarize herself with the house. And the weeks after, she decided to familiarize herself with her husband and this new way of life. She had not learned much more about him personally, but he was easy to engage in academic discussions about literature and history. He was funny, too, when he intended to be. Even still, he remained closed-off from her, and she knew it had everything to do with whence she came. 

She was adamant about the fact that she was not going to cut herself off from her family for him. She had chosen this path for herself in defiance of her family, and regardless of how locked inside himself Garcia was, he was still a far more interesting person than she could imagine Lord Wycliff being. She could certainly not imagine Lord Wycliff debating the finer points of gender in Shakespearean works with her. With Lord Wycliff, she would have been expected only to be a brood mare and a pretty face, but Garcia had had no interest in having her that way. It was comforting that he understood her mind. If he ever were interested in her that way, she would not have been uninterested. 

She wore a morning dress the color of beer to visit the Rittenhouse estate. She was aware that her visit to her childhood was unlikely to go well, but she found that she did not care much about that. She needed to do this for her own sake. She had done this all on the sly, and now was the time she ought to come clean and tell her cousin to his face the level of disgust she felt for both him and his wife. It was something she had itched to do since before her family had died seven months previously. 

She turned to her husband after they had eaten breakfast and returned to the parlor for a nice morning of reading. She was nervous to broach the subject with him because she knew he did not approve of her ever returning to Rittenhouse even for this, but she knew that it was necessary, perhaps not prudent, but something she needed for her own sake. “I am going to tell Nicholas today.”

“Are you sure?” Garcia asked, turning away from his book to look at her. 

Lucy nodded. “I know you do not approve, but I do not need your approval to go about my own business.”

“Fine,” Garcia snapped, looking more closed off than Lucy had seen him. “See if I care when you get hurt.” 

Lucy looked at him. “Nothing bad is going to happen.” Garcia was still frowning at her, but she could not reach the emotions beneath his visage. She knew he cared about her at least as a friend, but it was times like this where she wondered if in the future there was a possibility of more with her husband. A month into their marriage they still had not consummated it. Lucy did not mind, but still, she was terrified her family would force her to divorce and force her to marry Lord Wycliff anyway. “Worse comes to worse, Nicholas throws stuff and I smack him upside the head, or he tries to get me divorced, and he still gets a smack upside the head with an encyclopedia.”

Quietly, Garcia asked, “Would you want to divorce me, if you had the option?”

“No,” Lucy whispered, shaking her head. “It might not be a legitimate marriage as it is thus far unconsummated, but I have no interest in leaving it.” Garcia seemed to shut down even more at this realization. He sat down on a chair and crossed his legs. He rocked back and forth slightly, clearly attempting to calm himself down. Lucy noted his eyes were wide as though in a panic, but not a single sound came from him. “Listen, I care for you. You’re my husband, but mostly, you’re my friend. I have to do this if only so they do not find out some other way and bang down the door. I will be back. I promise.”

She leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder. He leaned into the touch but remained incredibly stiff. Lucy took a deep breath before she bent over and kissed his hair. “I will see you tonight.”

Then she left. 

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

The Rittenhouse Estate seemed both more resplendent and overdone than it had before. Where once Lucy might have simply seen it as her home and as a microcosm of how things were, Lucy now recognized it as excessive. When she compared it to the house she now shared with Garcia, the Rittenhouse Estate came up short. She could no longer look fondly upon this house. Lucy did not enter through the main entrance but instead opted for the servants’ entrance on the side of the actual house. 

She knocked on the door, and a few minutes later, Rufus, Jiya’s betrothed, opened the door. “Milady, hello! Are you sure you want to be around here? The Duke and Duchess have made quite a fuss about your disappearance.”

“I am sure they have,” Lucy grumbled. “May I come in, have some tea, and talk to both Mrs. Christopher and Jiya?” She smiled hopefully at Rufus, who nodded slowly. “How are you doing, Rufus?”

Rufus shook his head with a grimace. “It has gotten worse here since you left. Even Mr. Mason is stressed, and he and Mrs. Christopher have been arguing constantly. They have taken your disappearance out on Jiya too, though they have just made her a regular maid. The Duke and Duchesses do not care for the staff.”

“I suppose they do not. I am at least sorry for my part in your troubles.” Lucy ducked her head, biting her lip. “I did not mean for your situations to worsen on any account.”

“I know,” Rufus replied kindly, though he was more reserved than Lucy could remember him ever being. “It hasn’t been much, and it isn’t your fault. There’s every chance this could have happened with you still here, too. You’re the kindest in your family. Do not ever forget that.” 

Lucy nodded, not entirely satisfied with his words. She still bore some responsibility to those who had been her friends, and like a knave, she had neglected those bonds of friendship. She took a deep breath and followed Rufus into the kitchen where some of the servants milled around. Lucy recognized most of them, but there were a few that had come with her cousins that she could not recognize. Lucy would have worried they would report her visit here, but not even they could like her cousins that much.

“I will fetch Jiya and Mrs. Christopher,” Rufus informed Lucy before hurrying off. Lucy was left alone with her thoughts. Garcia had been right about one thing: The servants had been punished for her ill behavior. It was a nauseous thought. 

Lucy suddenly could not have been less interested in her tea. She fiddled with her hands in her lap. She had anticipated this to be easy. She would come here, say some pretty things, and then leave, but she was quickly realizing there was more to repair than that plan would allow. Lucy took a breath and tried to force herself to calm down. 

Not too much later, Rufus returned with both Jiya and Mrs. Christopher. Lucy stood up and smiled at them. Lucy noticed almost instantly that both women looked far more tired than she could remember them looking. “Good Heavens,” Lucy hissed, “how dare they do this to you both.”

Jiya gave her a fond smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “They know we need the work, so they think they can do whatever to us. They are not totally wrong.”

“I am sorry for my own part in this. I want to help fix all of this and force the Duke and Duchess out,” Lucy sighed. “Speaking of them, I rather ought to inform them of my marriage. I think it is high time I do so and tell them that they ought to watch their backs. I have no intentions of making their lives easy.” 

Jiya shook her head. “Just be careful. We do not care to see you hurt.”

Lucy nodded. “I know. I am ashamed to see that you have been hurt.” She rose to her feet and brushed her dress slightly as though that simple act would make her any more intimidating, Jiya placed a hand on her shoulder, and Mrs. Christopher did the same.

“We will not be there,” Mrs. Christopher said, “but we are with you.” Mrs. Christopher was quiet for a couple of minutes as though lost in thought. “And by the way, I am glad your marriage is going well. It suits you.”

Lucy smiled and placed her hands on top of those of her friends. “Thank you ever so much. I will be seeing you again soon, sooner than a month, this time.”

Lucy walked toward the stairs that led up from the servants’ quarters to the rest of the house. These steps were accompanied by a feeling of dread that Lucy supposed one should not feel in returning to one’s childhood home, but there it was. Something told Lucy that she was walking into some sort of impending doom, but Lucy knew that she had to face it. 

She followed the marble corridors to the library, where she assumed Nicholas would be. Once again, Lucy was struck by how grand this house was, how utterly impractical. It was cavernous, causing each and every one of her footsteps to echo and her soul to feel as empty and barren as the house. When she arrived at the library, Mr. Mason was standing outside. His eyes widened as he apparently realized who she was. 

“Milady, you cannot just barge in there. Their Graces are entertaining Lord Wycliff. I don’t think —” Mr. Mason began, placing an arm between Lucy and the door.

Lucy sighed. “I am sure they will not be happy to see me. I do not suppose you would be willing to announce my presence, would you?” She bit her lip. “I would rather do this sooner rather than later. I want to inform them they have no control over my life, and that I want to see my parents’ will.”

Mr. Mason shook his head. “Have you packed your belongings? Have Mrs. Christopher take them to your new house before you visit with your cousins. They will not take kindly to this. I do not want to see you hurt.”

“If I pack my belongings with Jiya, will you let me speak with them? I need to do this, whether or not the idea is sound.” Lucy gave him a pleading look. If she did not do this soon, her resolve would fail her. Her resolve was her only weapon, so she could not afford to waste it. 

“On your own head be it,” Mr. Mason muttered under his breath, “just do not say that I did not tell you so.”

Lucy thanked him quietly and turned to go to her room. When she entered her room, she was surprised to see that Jiya was already there, packing her belongings. “Jiya, thank you,” Lucy breathed.

“What are you doing here?” Jiya asked, “I thought you were downstairs.”

“Mr. Mason would not permit me in the library unless my things were packed,” Lucy admitted, “so I came here to help pack.”

“Smart man,” Jiya said icily. 

Lucy frowned and wondered where her easy friendship with the other woman had gone. She knew it had to do with her own leaving and the month between then and now, but Lucy simply could not make heads or tails of it. “Jiya, what did they do? What have I done? What happened?”

“You weren’t here,” Jiya snapped. “You don’t know what it was like, what it is still like.”

“Jiya,” Lucy whispered. She brushed a strand of hair from her maid’s face, “Tell me what happened. Please.”

Jiya closed her eyes and tilted her head down. Then she took a deep breath. “The Duchess found out about Rufus and me. She said that he was unworthy of me and that if she found out we married ever, she would kill him. So I had to end things with him. Lucy, you have no idea how heinous things have become here. I miss you. You were the one who could keep them in line.”

Lucy stood up. “I have it in me to give them a piece of my mind, but I refuse to make matters worse for my dearest friend. I will promise you that I will do everything I can to ensure that they will have power over you no more.”

Jiya nodded. “I wish to marry Rufus. Now, I suppose you ought to rehearse what you say to your family.” 

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Walking into the library felt like a victory. Emma and Nicholas both gave her matching looks that could have curled her hair if Lucy were made of anything less than steel. She pursed her lips and kept her chin high. She barely registered Lord Wycliff’s presence on the side of the toom with the heat of her cousins’ glares. “Lord Wycliff will not be necessary. I am, you see, already married, and I have no intentions of marrying a second man, let alone a man I dislike.”

Lucy had intended to tell them to whm she was married, that she wanted to see her parents’ will again, and that she had no intention of every obeying them again, but Jiya had counseled her against that, that she ought not reveal her hand too early. Lucy realized Jiya’s suggestions had merit and took them, and that with Jiya’s suggestion, Garcia would not be endangered either. 

“You dare disobey me, girl?!” Nicholas demanded. His face was ruddy with anger. 

Lucy crossed her arms. “I thought that was quite clear. I am not marrying for the sake of our family. I don’t believe I am disobeying you by making sure you can comprehend what I say.” For a second, Lucy thought she saw Emma smirk, but after a moment, any trace of such an expression was hidden again. 

“Who is it that you married? Is he even real?” Nicholas carried on as though he had not heard Lucy’s remarks. He paced across the floor and gesticulated wildly with each one of his words. 

“Obviously, he’s real. Imaginary people do not do the things he does,” Lucy retorted. “Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to return to him in time for supper. He is a splendid cook, after all.” She turned on her heel, fully prepared to have another shoe thrown at her — the bruise from the previous shoe-throwing incident had only just faded a fortnight ago — but she was surprised to find that no projectiles were sent her way.

Instead, something far worse happened. Someone grabbed her by the hair. Lucy tried to turn around and yank herself free only to come face-to-face with Emma. Emma made a clicking sound with her tongue that made Lucy feel like a small child once more. “I would not try to fight were I you.”

“No, but you would be more than a bit miffed,” Lucy huffed. She had seen Emma fence and ride before, and she knew the other woman to be far more capable at physical tasks than she. Thus, Lucy did the only thing she could think of doing. She unhooked Emma’s chatelaine from her dress under the guise of attempting to kick her. Lucy carefully hid the chatelaine down the bosom of her dress a second before Emma backhanded her across the face. Lucy gasped from pain just before Emma slapped her other cheek. Lucy fell to her knees and fought back no more. She squeaked in pain as Emma dragged her from the room.

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Lucy realized quickly that there had been a flaw in her plan of stealing Emma’s chatelaine and using it to free herself. Namely Lucy simply did not know how to pick a lock. Lucy was being detained in her own rooms. The familiarity of it was something Lucy supposed she ought to have found comforting, but it was not. With all of her belongings gone, and with the distance she had placed between herself and this house emotionally, all of this felt alien. Emma and Nicholas even took care to send servants that she was unfamiliar with to bring her her meager meals. 

It took Lucy very little time after being trapped to start formulating a plan. She could not pick a lock to gain her escape, but a glance outside the window informed her that no one was minding the window, so she knew she could escape that way. Two days she had been struggling to figure out how she could get to the ground from her second story room. 

There was a knock on the door. Lucy turned to face the door, rather surprised by this turn of events. Her cousins never knocked if they wanted to visit her, and that only happened twice, once when Nicholas came in to berate her more for her decision to disobey him and once when Emma informed her that she would find out who had helped her and who her husband was. Lucy had not bothered to reply to either of them and instead read through both of their rants. The icing on the cake had been that she had been able to read through the Emma’s journal detailing her and Nicholas’ deeds, which had been attached to Emma’s chatelaine. 

Lucy was about to ask who was at the door when Mrs. Christopher entered the room. “Mrs. Christopher, I imagine from your expression that you only have bad news for me.” Lucy sighed and ran a hand through her braided hair, forcing it into tight, messy waves. 

Mrs. Christopher nodded slowly. Lucy hissed. Mrs. Christopher motioned for Lucy to sit back down. Lucy shook her head. If she was going to hear bad news, she was going to take it standing so that she could fight it with all she had. Mrs. Christopher opened her mouth but hesitated to say anything until Lucy gave her an imploring look. “The Duchess has interrogated the staff. She — she hurt Rufus to get to Jiya, and —”

Lucy cut her off. “Are they both all right? Did Jiya tell Emma?” 

Mrs. Christopher shook her head. “Do not tell anyone this, please, but I have two kids. The Duchess found out and — I told her. I took this job because I wanted to help them and keep my family safe, but they were at risk.”

“You told her.” Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I — I can understand why. I would have done anything to keep Amy safe. You have to get me out of here. I can fix all of this. I can take them down. You just have to let me out of here.” Lucy walked purposefully toward the door. Mrs. Christopher gave her a skeptical look but nodded and showed her the way out. Lucy walked purposefully from the room, Emma’s chatelaine in hand. 

Lucy was proud to say that she left the house and the ground before anyone seemed to notice she had left her room. She prayed that Mrs. Christopher had not led her into a trap. As Lucy left the property, she started to run, something that everyone insisted was not in the least bit proper, but Lucy did not care about proper: Lucy cared about saving her husband and taking her family out of power. 

Her first stop was the jail, where she suspected Garcia was being held. She took a deep breath and opened the door. She looked at the police chief and informed him, “I wish to see my husband, Garcia Flynn.”

The man at the desk raised an eyebrow at her. “Ma’am, you’ll have to excuse me, but I’m afraid I’m under orders not to do that.” Lucy glanced down at the nameplate on the desk, which read ‘Wyatt Logan’. 

Lucy recalled something that Emma’s journal had said, and then she had recalled that this was a man Mrs. Christopher had considered marrying her to. “Why? Because you love my family that much or because you’re afraid of the information they have on your fiance and how it could ruin your prospects if they knew she was a light skirt?”

Wyatt Logan paled. “How did — You wouldn’t dare tell anyone.”

“Unlike most, I think there is nothing wrong with the profession, but I know society does not see it the same way I do. You wouldn’t risk her and your reputation, would you?” Lucy smirked, leaning a little closer to Wyatt. “Certainly you would not wish me to go to the lawyer’s office and inform them that you have attacked my person, would you? Hard to marry your girl from inside a cell, I would imagine.”

She watched as Wyatt paled and nodded his head. She felt a little bad. He seemed to have a good heart, and he seemed like the type of person who would rarely ever cave to a threat. Lucy did not know if she should have been proud for poking the man’s greatest weakness as she had or disgusted with herself. Wyatt gestured for her to go ahead of him, but she shook her head. “Stay where I can see you, and give me your blunderbuss.” 

Wyatt handed over his gun. Lucy was under no illusions. She knew that if Wyatt wanted to, he could knock her out and lock her up too, whether or not she had the gun. Lucy just had to trust that her threat had made all the impact she hoped it had. Wyatt led her to the cell where Garcia was sitting. 

“By God am I glad you see you,” Lucy exclaimed, feeling a strong urge to pull her husband into her arms and never let go. The strength of the feeling startled her. She knew she cared for the man before her, but to think she loved him — well, that was a whole other beast entirely. “Husband, Mr. Flynn, Garcia, I am getting you out of here.”

He looked up at her, but he was muffin-faced. He looked empty and drained, unkempt in a way he was not even after sleep. Lucy knelt down before him and held out her hand through the bars. “Please. I have an idea as to how to take my cousins out of power, but I will need you to come with me. So come on.”

His gaze became a bit more focused at that, and he nodded slowly in agreement. “Then get me out of here. But we need to talk, later.” 

Lucy bit her lip, but she agreed to that. “Keys, Mr. Logan. Unlock this door right this second.” Wyatt did as he was instructed. Lucy stood up and walked toward the door, completely and utterly aware of Garcia following her, and Wyatt Logan behind them both, watching them leave. Lucy smirked. 

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Garcia and Lucy walked side-by-side across town. Both of them knew they could not risk returning to their house, especially not together, when it was only a matter of time before the Duke and Duchess of Rittenhouse realized they had both vanished. They were perhaps halfway to the law office before Garcia pulled Lucy down an alleyway and pressed a finger to her lips before she could protest. “We need to talk.”

Lucy nodded without speaking, and Garcia lowered his fingers from her lips. “I am sorry. I am so sorry about that happening. You were right. I didn’t think. I —”

Garcia shook his hand and waved off her apology. “I don’t know that I can forgive you that yet. I — I need to know what your plan is. I need to make sure you are not being taken for a fool.”

“Trust me when I say I’m not,” Lucy said, the warm sincerity of her apology a moment before replaced with a cold, business-like tone. “See, I was wondering why they were marrying me off six months after my family died. I was just going to inform them that I am married, do not look for me, do not try to engage me again. You were right in that though — they were not going to let it go so easily. Emma dragged me back to my room, but I managed to take her chatelaine from her, including a journal, which just so happens to contain some rather interesting information. This also includes the information that, should I marry, the Rittenhouse Estate technically becomes mine, not theirs, which means I have the legal authority to kick them to the streets. Not to mention the record of illegal activities I have of them that I can just happen to leak to the press.”

Garcia stared at her, eyes wide, gaping slightly. It was the look a man was meant to give the altar of his god, the look of a man who had just seen a miracle, but when it was directed at her, Lucy thought it was love and hope. Devotion. Worship. She shivered. Lucy considered kissing him. 

Garcia cleared his throat. Lucy looked down at his feet and blushed furiously. “And, of course, the murder of my family. That was them as well, which will of course, ensure they would never have claim to the property again. We can fix things — we can start reforming the town, turning it into a collective or do whatever else to make sure that what they have done can never happen again!” Garcia stared at her, looking paler by the second. Lucy stared at him, a crease forming between her brows. “What is it? Have you a fever? Are you ill? Is there something wrong?”

“The murder of your family? That can’t be right. I— Your mother and father ran over my late wife and our daughter.” His voice broke. Lucy stared at him. “Your family was in their carriage, and they ordered their driver to keep going. Since then, I tried without stop to find a way to uncover their deeds, make people care, take them down. I was going to murder them myself. These people, a man and a woman, asked me for their help, but I — I was going to do it. The day came, and your family was dead before I did anything. Lucy, I —”

Lucy stared at him. She blanched as she realized what he was saying. “Do not talk to me. We need to go to the law office. I am doing this regardless of you because I believe in it and because it is right. After all this is over, then we will see how I feel.” She could feel tears well in her eyes, and in that moment, she could not stand to look at him.

It was a difficult thing, reckoning with two juxtaposed images of someone one loved. Lucy had to reconcile her own knowledge of her family with the image that Emma’s journal and Garcia both presented her with. She also had to reconcile her gentle, thoughtful, intelligent husband with a man intent on revenge. She took a couple shuddering breaths. She wanted her sister. She wanted to break down sobbing until all her tears drained away, leaving her limp and halfway lifeless. Today, however, she had no such luxury. She had to keep going and finish this before her cousins took it upon themselves to finish her. 

And thus, she continued to the law office. She stayed with Mrs. Christopher instead of going home. She wrote the newspaper and had her cousins’ misdeeds published in the Morning Chronicle after being denied by the more conservative Times. She won.

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Mrs. Christopher, Michelle Voss, and the children they looked after were all good. Lucy was quiet during her days at their house. Garcia had mailed her to inform her that he was willing to offer her anything she needed to accomplish what she needed to do, but aside from that, she had seen nor heard from him at all. Despite her mixed feelings for him, she could not help but be disappointed he had not come to her even while the rest of her was grateful to him for giving her the space she needed. She still did not trust herself around him or him around her. 

She did not wake early now, nor did she go to sleep late. She simply existed. Mrs. Christopher always had tea waiting for her when she came downstairs in the morning and kind words. Her children, too, took care to include her in their games. Lucy let herself participate no matter how it recollected memories of herself and her sister. It was at the end of the week that Mrs. Christopher sat Lucy down to talk to her. 

“Mrs. Flynn,” Mrs. Christopher said, for the first time referring to Lucy by name, “I have never seen you so reserved. What, pray tell me, is the matter?”

Lucy looked down. “Did you know my family killed his? That he tried to kill mine in return? Did you know?” She wrung her hands anxiously. 

Mrs. Christopher raised her eyebrows and leaned back. “He what?” 

“What I said,”Lucy intoned dryly, “but nevermind as I have my answer now. You did not know.” she fiddled with her skirts, twirling the chiffon around her finger one way and then the other. She leaned closer to Mrs. Christopher. “So why did you choose Garcia Flynn for me? Why him?”

Mrs. Christopher grimaced. “You wanted someone your family would not approve of. He is a poor, foreign widower with anarchist leanings, and he is kind when he wants to be and very intelligent. I thought you would get along well.”

“I met the other man you mentioned, Wyatt Logan,” Lucy admitted. “I had to threaten him to get to my husband. I am not sure how well he would have stood up to my cousins’ forces. He cares too much of what others think, for others, and for himself. He has not been broken in the same way.” She paused as realization dawned on her. “I — I need to go talk to my husband. Thank you for everything!” 

Lucy shot up and practically ran from the table. Out of the corner of the kitchen, Michelle walked over to Mrs. Christopher and wrap her arms around the other woman, murmuring soft platitudes. Lucy did not see this, nor did she see Mrs. Christopher’s bemused gaze on her back as she left the kitchen. 

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.··._.·°¯°·.·° .·°°°

Not without some trepidation did Lucy walk to the front door of her house with Garcia. She was out of breath, her cheeks flushed, from the journey, and her heart was racing. She had not been here in over a week, and it had been a week since she had last seen her husband. Lucy knocked on the door. 

She took a deep breath. The door was opened almost instantly, and she could not quite make out the expression on his face. At first she thought it was shock, and then joy, and then it was something she could not quite place. She smiled up at him nervously. “Lucy,” he breathed, and then Lucy realized what the expression was: relief. 

“Garcia,” she replied, keeping her tone even though it trembled. She could not tell whether she were more nervous or excited. She swallowed. “May I come in?” 

Garia paused for a moment, watching her, before nodding once. He gestured for her to enter, so Lucy walked to the living room where they had had their first real conversations. She saw a book on a chair. Lucy thought that was strange, as Garcia never allowed a book to be anywhere but where it was meant to be. Lucy picked up the book and sat down in the chair, which was still warm from Garcia having sat there. She read the spine of the book. Le Morte d’Arthur. She smirked. “Did you miss me?”

All of Garcia’s face turned red, but he smiled softly. “I did.” He fidgeted awkwardly with the collar of his shirt, but he kept his face level with hers, his eyes gazing intently at her face. “Is that all right?”

Lucy nodded, biting her lip and looking anywhere but his eyes. “Quite all right.” She took a couple deep breaths to steady herself. “Uh, thank you, by the way. For your help. And, uh, saying that.” She offered him a smile. “We, er, need to discuss things, I guess.”

Garcia nodded heavily and sighed. He gave her a wry look. “This is where you tell me you want a divorce. The lack of consummation will, of course, make that easier for you.”

Lucy still did not look him in the eyes. Instead, she stepped toward him. “You presume too much, Garcia.” She placed a hand on his cheek. The rough stubble of his cheek rubbed against her hand as he leaned into her touch. “I do not wish to end the marriage. I mean, unless you want to.”

Garcia placed his hand over hers and drew it to his lips. He kissed the palm of her hand, where it still tingled from his stubble. Lucy’s breath hitched. He drew away to look her in the eyes. “I don’t want to divorce you.” He smiled at her, a bright, honest smile, and Lucy was once again startled by her urge to kiss him. They still had so much they needed to say, so much that needed to be made like as clear and lasting as diamond. 

“I can’t forgive you for trying to kill my family, and I don’t know that I ever will. But I can tell you that I understand why and that I would never hold that against you because I would do the same for my family. I am still coming to terms with who my parents are, but Amy? Amy never knew, and I will not have you blaming her.” She took a deep breath, and she met his eyes. “I want this with you not just because this is likely to be my best option, but if you cannot agree to these terms, then . . . .”

Garcia nodded. “Then you ought to hear mine. I will not hold against you the position of your birth or hold you accountable for your family’s actions. I am not going to pretend that I am not a jaded man or that I will ever stop loving Lorena or Iris. I can promise you that I am not going to compare you to them, and I can promise you that you have your own place in my heart. I — I have come to care for you greatly.” He pulled her close to him, and Lucy placed her arms over his shoulders. 

“I have come to care for you greatly as well,” Lucy informed him. “I’m not in the habit of threatening the police for people I only slightly care about.” 

She gave him a lopsided grin. He returned it with that grin of his, the one that told her she was his world and his deity. “Who else would I debate literature with?” 

“I missed you too,” Lucy whispered, not moving from his arms. She leaned closer to him. He was still leaning over, just far enough that if she tilted her head up, their lips were only a breath apart. Garcia sucked in a breath and released it through his teeth as a hiss. Then, they were kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt Garcy + arranged marriage sent to me by an anon on tumblr.
> 
> I am still taking prompts. Feedback is adored and seriously makes my day. I'm @by-the-virtue-of-the-muse over on tumblr.


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